


After Dark

by Goldy



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Dark, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 07:31:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldy/pseuds/Goldy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It’s not like the Doctor to suddenly decide he’d quite like to pop by for a visit. Oh, no—that’s not him at all. And if he’s here—if he’s here, after dark, in her flat, in her bedroom, in modern day London—then it can only mean that something somewhere has gone wrong.</i> Post-WoM.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Dark

It’s after dusk when Martha arrives home. Street lamps cast a pale glow over the living room and the curtains swish back in forth in front of the open window. Her neck prickles uncomfortably and she squints into the darkness of the living room, unable to shake the feeling that something is lurking around the corner.

She shakes her head. She can go to the end of the universe and work for UNIT, and still, something about being alone in the dark gives her the creeps.

Suppressing a shiver, Martha gingerly makes her way to the bedroom. She drops her laptop and purse on the floor before fumbling for the light.

She hears him before she sees him. There’s a swish of rustling clothing that sounds like someone sitting up too quickly. Her pounding heart thunders in her ears, but her shaking fingers _finally_ find the light switch. She whirls around as the room fills with light.

Her eyes seek out the intruder and her gasp of shock gives way to relief. “ _Doctor_?!”

He has the sense to look faintly embarrassed. “Hi,” he says. He tries for a weak smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. “Martha.”

“Oh my god, you scared me half to death,” she says. She leans back against the wall, feeling winded and light-headed. Her eyes travel around the bedroom, lingering on the rumpled side of the bed where he’d obviously been sitting, and the mess of make-up tubes and jewelry on the chest of drawers like someone had gone poking through them.

She whips around to stare at him. “You looked through my things?”

He shrugs. “I got bored.”

“You broke into my house, scared me half out of my mind, and went through my _things_?”

“Oi, it’s not my fault you’ve got a rubbish security system.”

She gazes at him incredulously. “What are you even doing here?”

He fixes her with an unblinking stare and doesn’t respond. There’s something deep and unfathomable about his eyes—like he’s on a planet a million miles away, and not stuck in Martha Jones’s small, London apartment that she shares with one Tom Mulligan. He’s a bit frightening, if she’s honest with herself, and she takes a step back, a small voice encouraging her to _run_.

She swallows hard. “Doctor?” she tries again. She gentles her voice. “Doctor, what are you doing here? Tell me.”

Because after all, it’s not like the Doctor to suddenly decide he’d quite like to pop by for a visit. Oh, no—that’s not him at all. And if he’s here—if he’s here, after dark, in her flat, in her bedroom, in modern day London—then it can only mean that something somewhere has gone wrong.

He breaks their stare and moves restlessly around the room. He finally comes to stop in front of the window and stares out at the street below without saying a word.

Martha’s heart pounds in her ears and again she hears that same, instinctual voice in her head—the voice telling her to _run, to get out now_ , but it’s the Doctor. He would never do anything to hurt her.

She forces herself to his side. Her eyes cut over to his profile, and he clenches his jaw tightly. “What’s happened?”

He braces one arm on the window and says, “There’s a line, Martha. There’s _always_ a line. I’ve spent my entire life getting around the rules, running from stuffy codes and conventions. But I never crossed that line.”

He’s breathing rapidly and the warmth of his breath leaves behind a cloud of fog on the window.

“I have the power to change all of time and space at my fingertips,” he continued. “Do you have any how _powerful_ that can make me?”

“Yeah,” Martha says, voice hardening. “I was there when the Master took over. I saw him slaughter half my world while he kidnapped and tortured my family. I reckon I have a pretty good idea of what happens when a Time Lord crosses the line.”

The Doctor flinches, but doesn’t respond.

“What did you do?” Martha says.

“Nothing. It’s not important.”

Martha elbows him away from the window and gets into his space. She bites down on the inside of her cheek to keep her emotions in check. “Oh, no, you don’t go showing up in my flat in the middle of the night for ‘nothing.’” She leans in closer. “I’m not stupid.”

He stares back at her like he’s trying to summon the energy to be angry and not finding it. “I crossed a line, Martha.”

“What sort of line?” she pushes. “ _Doctor_?”

He shakes his head and then looks away. “It won’t happen again.”

“You don’t know that.” Her voice rises, bordering somewhere on hysteria. She takes a good look at him, catalogues the circles under his eyes and the gauntness of his cheeks. He looks like he’s aged ten years since she last saw him. An understanding hits her, and she says, “Why did you come to me?”

She learned a long time ago that she’s not quite what Rose and Donna are to him. She’s not angry or resentful about it—she knows he cares about her, but her one-time feelings for him will always be the unspoken and awkward elephant hanging between them.

He would only come to her if there was no one else.

She licks her lips and says, “Where’s Donna? And Rose?”

He shakes his head. “Gone.”

“What?” she says. “Both of them?”

He turns to look at her, that same deep look as before and it makes her shiver. But then something in his eyes softens. She suddenly feels like the Doctor she knows is back again and she releases a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

He rubs his forehead and says, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have barged in on you like this.” He glances around the room like he’s seeing it for the first time. “Blimey, I made a mess of things, didn’t I?”

“A bit, yeah,” she says, trying to hide how shaken she is.

He forces a smile. “What about you?” he says. “What have you been up to?”

“Um…” she says, thrown by the sudden change in him. “Well, I got married.”

He stares at her a moment in incomprehension, but then a slow smile spreads across his face. “ _Really?_ Good for you, Martha Jones. Good for you.” He pauses. “He’s not evil or working for the Trickster or anything like that, is he?”

She blinks. “Not that I know of.”

“Well, there we are, then,” he says, looking just a bit proud.

Martha flushes, but then says, “You’re trying to change the subject.”

He rolls his eyes at the ceiling like she’s the one being particularly obtuse. “Come on, Martha, is it so wrong to pop in for a visit every once in a while?”

“Pop in for a visit…?” she trails off. “You can’t be serious.” Then she sobers. “I have half a mind to call in UNIT on you.”

He snorts and stuffs his hands in his pockets, moving out of her space. “What, you? Call UNIT on me?” Abruptly, he stops and spins around, fixing her with a stare. “I don’t think you would. Not now, at least. Maybe one day… well,” he finishes, with a grimace, “let’s hope that’s a while off, eh?”

She crosses her arms over her chest and holds her ground. Finally, she inclines her head slightly. “‘Never’ would be better.”

He shoots her a wan smile in response, and Martha feels some of her tension melt away. “I’m sorry for scaring you,” he says sincerely.

She feels a flash of exasperated fondness, but before she can answer, the sound of the front door opening and closing reverberates through the flat. A familiar male voice calls, “Martha? You home?”

Martha closes her eyes, and then yells back, “In here!”

“You would _not_ believe the day that I’ve had,” Tom calls as he begins to rattle through the kitchen, pulling open the cupboards. “Had to stay late after little Jimmy came in with his tongue stuck to a toy fire truck. I almost thought I’d have to cut it off. Well, it would serve him right, wouldn’t it? How do you feel about leftover chilli tonight?”

“Yeah, great!”

She chances a glance at the Doctor, and he rocks back on his heels with an amused eyebrow wiggle. “Look at you. You’ve gone all… domestic.”

“You,” Martha says, pushing him behind the chest of drawers, “stay here. And be quiet.”

The Doctor pulls a mock pout. “You’re not going to introduce us?”

“And explain why there’s a strange alien lurking about in our bedroom? I’ll skip that one, thanks.” She huffs out a sigh. “You couldn’t have just rung the bell like a normal person.”

The Doctor opens his mouth to protest, but she walks off before he can say anything. She finds Tom in the kitchen. There’s a pot heating on the stove and he’s bent over a timer, frowning at it like it’s more complicated than little Jimmy’s tongue attached to a toy fire truck.

“Hi,” she says.

He turns around and smiles widely when he sees her. “Hello,” he says, and bends over to kiss her soundly. He pulls away and bumps her nose with his before turning back to the stove. “Now,” he says, “do you remember how long your mum told us to have this thing on for?”

“No idea.”

“Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

“Yeah,” Martha says, eyes flitting to the hall in fear that the Doctor might suddenly decide to introduce himself after all.

Tom glances at her. “Something wrong?”

The concern in his eyes tugs at her heart and she forces a smile. “No, nothing,” she says. Her love for Tom comes in dribs and drabs, growing steadier and more loyal every day. It’s not quite like the all-consuming, intense love she had for the Doctor, but most of the time she finds herself grateful for its soft dependability. “Just feeling a little under the weather,” she lies. “Will you put on a pot of tea?”

“Of course,” he says. He presses a kiss to her forehead and then says, “Why don’t you go lie down until supper?”

“Thanks,” she says gratefully. She touches his cheek, whispers a soft “I love you” and then heads back to the bedroom. She closes the door firmly behind her and then leans back against it, head spinning.

The Doctor is still behind the chest of drawers, arms folded across his chest. “I should go,” he says.

She hesitates and then says, “Yeah, I think… yeah.”

He nods and unfolds his arms before heading over to the window. Martha gapes at him. He wouldn’t…? He pulls back the glass and sticks his head out, considering the three storey drop. She has no doubt that he’ll find a way down—he always does—but something makes her call him back.

“Doctor—wait,” she says. “You were going to tell me something?”

He tugs his head out of the window and turns to look at her, his pale face seeming worn and haunted under the glare of the overhead lamp. He doesn’t answer and Martha feels a sick sort of relief. He reminds her of what he looked like after he went after the Family—hard and ancient, but somehow small and vulnerable like he had done something too horrible to imagine.

Just as she was then, Martha isn’t quite sure she wants to know what happened.

Instead, she closes the distance between them and throws her arms around his neck. He tenses in the hug and then slowly relaxes, holding her close.

“You shouldn’t travel on your own,” she tells him fiercely. “You won’t be replacing Donna—or any of us. But you need someone.”

“Yeah,” he says heavily. He gives her one last squeeze and then releases her. He pops his head out of the window again, and reaches up to grab onto the ledge above.

He turns back one last time. “Goodbye, Martha Jones,” he says, with a finality and heaviness that breaks her heart. “And thanks.”

He nimbly pulls himself out of the bedroom. “You’re welcome, I think,” she replies. And then whispers, “Goodbye.”


End file.
